


Fifth Year.

by jexellan



Series: Hufflepuff!Grantaire [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hogwarts AU, Hufflepuff!Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jexellan/pseuds/jexellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan's house is small but lovely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifth Year.

Jehan’s house is small but lovely.

Embroidered pillows and quilts were draped over chairs and the sofa.

Artwork—Jehan’s mother’s, mostly—hung on the walls.

And plants. Lots of plants.

Jehan’s father is a botanist.

(Everything about Jehan makes much more sense now.)

—-

The guest bedroom is now “Grantaire’s room”.

—-

They’re eating breakfast in the garden. Jehan and Jehan’s father take turns naming all of the various flowers for him.

A large barn owl carrying the mail arrives.

 _“Oh, your letter’s here, Jean, dear!”_  Jehan’s mother pushes out from the table to retrieve the envelopes from the owl. _“And it looks as though the headmaster knows you’re here as well, Grantaire.”_

She hands them their letters.

He frowns slightly. Jehan notices.

_“R, what’s wrong?”_

_“_ No _…no, there’s no way—”_

He tears open his envelope, and turns it upside down.

A small badge falls into his palm.

Jehan claps his hands together, beaming.  _“I_ knew _it!”_

Jehan’s mother cries, _“Oh, that’s_ wonderful _, Grantaire! Hold on, I’ll bring out some more muffins to celebrate!”_ She stops by his seat to plant a kiss on top of his head before whisking off into the house.

Jehan’s father claps him on the shoulder, smiling warmly at him.  _“Congratulations, Grantaire.”_

He smiles back weakly, before turning his head back to stare blankly at the yellow and black badge in his hand.

—-

He writes to his sister about it.

He doesn’t write his parents.

—-

He keeps glancing down at the badge on his robes during the prefect’s meeting on the train.

His sister stands next to him, beaming.

—-

 _“Enjolras told us you were at the prefect’s meeting! Congrats, mate!”_ Bahorel claps him on the back. 

Courfeyrac snickers.  _“I’ll admit, it didn’t really occur to me that you’d get the badge. But now that I think of it, who else would get it? Surely not Marius—”_

 _“What’s_ that _supposed to mean?”_

 _“—and Jehan here will skip classes if the weather’s nice enough just so he can go out and write poetry about how_ blue _the sky is—”_

 _“I regret absolutely nothing.”_  Jehan twirls his pen between his fingers, not looking up from the current sonnet he’s writing.

 _“And Enjolras said Joly got the badge for Ravenclaw? That’s brilliant.”_ Feuilly spoke from the floor through a mouth-full of Chocolate Frogs.

 _“I haven’t actually met Joly,”_  says Marius, flipping through a Quidditch magazine.  _“Isn’t he dating that sixth Gryffindor?”_

 _“Bossuet or Musichetta?”_  Bahorel smirks, glancing at Courfeyrac.

 _“Don’t you mean both?”_  Courfeyrac grins wickedly.

Marius blushes profusely.

 _“I’m still a bit shocked that Combeferre didn’t get the badge,”_  says Feuilly thoughtfully.  _“I mean, Enjolras is a bit…”_

 _“Aggressive?”_  Courfeyrac supplies.

_“Self-righteous?”_

_“Blonde?”_

_“Yes, because hair color is relevant to the selection of prefects, R.”_

He shrugs, adding a branch to the tree he’s doodling in his sketchbook.

—-

As he’s leading first years down to the Hufflepuff common room and dormitories, it occurs to him for the first time that maybe, just maybe, he could be useful as a prefect.

—-

As it turns out, life as a prefect isn’t too different from what it was before.

He still helps his younger House mates.

He continues to doodle in class—and continues to get top marks.

He doesn’t really bother using the perfect bathroom.

Really, the only thing different is—

 _“Patrols.”_  The Head Boy says forcefully, looking around the room with an air of authority as the Head Girl passed out schedules.  _“You’re to report to your designated areas at the designated time, and complete your rounds with your partner._

_“The headmaster has suggested that we pair you up with a prefect from a different House from your own year, to promote inter-House cooperation.”_

He suppresses a groan. So that means he can’t be partnered up with his sister.

_“If you have an issue with your partner and wish to be switched with someone else on the schedule, please see one of us and we’ll discuss alternatives.”_

_“Any questions?”_

A murmur of ‘no’s rumbles through the room. 

He glances down at his schedule. That night he’s scheduled for…

Fifth floor corridor, with Joly.

He can deal with that.

—-

He doesn’t know if he can deal with it.

It’s not that Joly is a bad person—on the contrary, he’s very friendly, and doesn’t make fun of his black and yellow cap the way that some Ravenclaws have taken to doing. 

However…

 _“Oh no, I think I’m coming down with a—”_  Joly whips out his want and conjures a handkerchief just as he sneezes.  _“—excuse me—a cold.”_  A sniffle.

_“Go see Madam Pomfrey, then.”_

_“She won’t give me anything anymore,”_ Joly laments, quickly sweeping his wand over his handkerchief to clean it.  _“She says that I’m being silly, and tells to wash my hands. As if I didn’t wash my hands in the first place!”_

He tries to hold his snickers, and fails. Joly looks slightly offended at first, but then chuckles along with him.

They chat idly for the next ten minutes or so, checking empty classrooms to make sure that they are indeed empty. 

(He volunteers to open all the doors after the few instances where Joly would pull the sleeve of his robes completely over his hand to turn the door knob.)

At the end of the shift, they’re both laughing at a story he is telling Joly about the time Bahorel inadvertently made his own pants disappear.

Joly wipes a tear from his eye, his laughter dying down, before he turns to him and says,  _“Oh, would you happen to be interested in coming to a meeting on Friday evening? Enjolras told me to ask as many people as I could. It’s a group he’s started for the promotion of Squib rights.”_

He twirls his wand between his fingers. _“Maybe. I’ll have to see how much homework I have.”_

_“Okay, that’s fine. It’s 6:30 in that empty classroom down the hall from Professor McGonagall’s office. Feel free to bring people if you do decide to come, yeah?”_

_“Sure thing.”_

He doesn’t plan on going.

—-

Bahorel’s grin is ear-to-ear as he draws a bottle of Ogden’s Finest from his bag.

He smirks.  _“Your friend doesn’t skimp, does he?”_

_“Nope. There’s one for you here, too.”_

He catches the bottle tossed his way.

Tonight looks to be a good night, indeed.

—-

_“Are you sure you don’t want to go?_ _”_

Jehan and Marius gather up their books from the table they had claimed in the corner of the common room. The former looks as though he knows the answer.

_“Nah. I should probably finish this essay for Flitwick. You two go ahead.”_

They bid him farewell, heading out of the common room and up to the Squib rights meeting. 

He puts away his Charms essay (he’d finished it the night before, when he couldn’t sleep and had downed the rest of his bottle of Ogden’s Finest) and sits back in his chair, stretching as he looks around the room.

He notices a first year who is furiously scratching something out on her parchment, looking close to tears.

He gets up and wanders over to her.

_“Hey there. What’cha working on?”_

She jumps, startled. She glances up at him, then looks back down at her messy parchment, stuttering softly,  _“M-m-my P-p-potion’s assignment. B-b-but I’m not s-sure if I’m d-doing it right…”_

He kneels down, inspecting her assignment.

_“Oh, I remember this! Would you like me to show you how to do it?”_

She looks up at him, her face unsure, before she nods slowly.

_“Okay, cool. Now, here’s a little trick…”_

30 minutes later, the girl is no longer close to tears, and is finishing up the last problem, this time without his prompts. When she’s done, she hands him it over to him, fidgeting while he glances over her work and checked her answer.

He grins at her.  _“Perfect! See, you picked that up quickly! Didn’t I tell you how easy it would be?”_

She beams proudly back up him.  _“You did. Thanks for your help!”_

_“Anytime, kiddo. And you let me know how you do on that exam, okay?”_

_“You got it!”_

—-

_“Hey, R?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“I’m gay.”_

He looks up from his sketchbook, blinking.

_“What?”_

_“I’m gay.”_

_“Okay…”_ He chews on the end of his charcoal pencil, looking at Jehan.  _“And…?”_

_“And…?”_

_“…Jehan, we’ve been friends for how long?”_

_“Since first year…”_

_“Since first year. And I’m pretty sure that’s not going to change anytime soon. Unless you finally get fed up with me and dump me as your best friend for your pet cactus.”_

_“First of all, you could never even hope to compete with Herbert—”_

_“I’m prettier than Herbert, though—”_

_“_ Second of all…  _well, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s an issue. With Muggles, at least.”_

 _“Huh.”_ He rubs at a streak of charcoal on his paper thoughtfully.  _“Well, I’m not sure about what the rest of the wizarding world thinks…but I don’t see why it should matter who you love. I mean, it’s_ your _life, right? If you want to suck off a guy—”_

 _“_ Lovely _, R, really.”_

 _“What I’m trying to say is,”_  he presses on, _“you should be who_ you _want to be with. And fuck what anybody else thinks about it.”_

Jehan is biting on his lower lip, fiddling with his braid. It’s a moment before he speaks again.

_“You’re probably the only person who has never made a girl joke about my flowers, you know. Besides my parents, anyway._

_“Well, you know what I say. Fuck gender norms.”_

_“I have literally never heard you say that before now.”_

_“Hmm. Well, I should start saying it more often.”_

_“…Thanks, R.”_

_“Yeah, yeah.”_

A pause.

_“I’m still prettier than Herbert, though.”_

_“In your dreams.”_

_—-_

Joly reminds him about the meetings on Fridays for the first few weeks they patrol together.

After the fourth time he doesn’t show up to a meeting, Joly stops asking about it.

—-

Marius stomps into the dormitory, fuming.

 _“Lady problems, Marius?”_  he calls from upside down on his bed.

He rolls out of the way to dodge the pillow thrown at him.

 _“Honestly, Marius,”_ Jehan chimes in,  _“There’s only one person who can get you this fired up, and that’s—”_

 _“All I did was offer to carry her broom for her on the way back from practice!”_ Marius pulls at his hair. _“What’s so wrong about that, I ask you?”_

He and Jehan groan.

 _“Marius, have you ever even_ listened _to that girl speak?”_

_“Of course I listen—”_

_“Well, clearly you’ve missed the many times that she’s expressed her distaste when young men hold doors open for her—”_

_“Or offered to carry her books—”_

_“—or asked to walk her to class—”_

_“Oh, remember that one time that third year Ravenclaw whistled at her in the Entrance Hall?”_

_“Yes! Oh wow, I’d forgotten! And he had that pig snout for the next three days, too—”_

_“And of_ course _Cosette would get away with something like that without a detention—”_

 _“Okay, enough! I get it!”_ Marius huffs, throwing himself face-down onto Jehan’s bed next to Jehan with a groan.

 _“I was just trying to be nice,”_  he mumbles into the bedding.

 _“We know, Marius. We know.”_  Jehan pats his head.

—-

He has trouble sleeping.

Luckily, Bahorel’s friend continues to keep sneaking them liquor.

The bottle starts to become a regular fixture on his bedside table.

Marius doesn’t notice.

Jehan notices, but doesn’t comment.

(He wakes up one morning to find a recipe for a hangover potion tucked underneath the bottle, handwritten on floral paper in a familiar, loopy script.)

—-

Jehan goes home for this Christmas.

He, Bahorel, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, and Marius get smashed.

He and Courfeyrac drunkenly kiss under some mistletoe.

Marius loses a shoe.

—-

He wakes up the next morning with a massive hangover, and remembers the kiss.

He immediately owls Jehan about it and apologizes profusely, and  _don’t even pretend you don’t know why I’m apologizing I’m not stupid I can tell you’re over the moon about the kid I actually_ do _read your poetry you know but really we were both obliterated and it honestly meant nothing don’t hate me okay_

(Well, he doesn’t  _immediately_  owl Jehan. He does owl him after he’s finally finished throwing up the previous night’s liquor.)

—-

A letter from Jehan arrives later that day.

_It’s fine, R, seriously._

_I’m flattered that you actually read my poetry._

_However, I would be remiss if there wasn’t some form of payback involved, now wouldn’t I?_

—-

 _“Nice shirt,”_  Bahorel smirks.

_“Fuck off.”_

He’s wearing a bright yellow shirt with an all-over pattern of purple kittens on it.

He admits to himself that he probably deserves much worse.

Jehan smiles serenely.

—-

Homework, homework, and more homework.

O.W.L.s draw closer and closer.

He’s not too worried for himself.

(He’s a little worried for Marius.)

—-

He finds himself seated in Professor Sprout’s office.

 _“So, Grantaire,”_  the older woman says, scribbling something down on a sheet of parchment before looking up to smile at him kindly.  _“Have you given any thought to what you’d like to do after Hogwarts?”_

He fidgets in his seat, his right leg bouncing up and down. 

 _“Um…not much, if any, to be honest,”_  he says sheepishly, removing his cap to run a hand through his curls before replacing the cap back on his head.

Professor Sprout nods.  _“You’re not alone. I know many seventh years who are still unsure. Frankly, I don’t know how they expect school students to know what they want to do for the rest of their lives when they’re still figuring out everything else.”_  She huffs, shaking her head. “But, we’re required to hold these meetings in fifth year regardless.”

She takes a breath.  _“Well, let’s see if we can at least get a general idea of where your strengths are, Grantaire.”_  She ruffles through a few papers on her desk before pulling out on and glancing over it.  _“I can tell you right now, dear, that you are among the top students of your year. Professor Flitwick especially sings your praises.”_  She beams at him.

He smiles back, shrugging slightly.

_“I wonder, do you have any Ministry ambitions, perhaps—?”_

_“No, definitely not.”_  He flushes slightly, realizing he just interrupted her.  _“Sorry.”_

 _“It’s quite alright,”_  she says, considering him for a moment, before pausing to scribble something down on her parchment.

(He couldn’t help it. The thought of being anywhere near the Ministry—anywhere near where his aunts and uncles work, his father—)

Professor Sprout sets down her quill, and clasps her hands together on the desk. She seems to deliberate for a moment before proceeding.

_“Have you ever considered a career in teaching, Grantaire?”_

He blinks. He had not been expecting that.

_“No. Can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”_

Professor Sprout nods slowly to herself. She hesitates before speaking again.

 _“These last couple of years, I’ve noticed a change in many of the younger members of my House. There is the most obvious change, which is academic performance. The Hufflepuff House average—at least among the younger students—has gone up significantly.”_  She looks at him intently.  _“Would you happen to know anything about that?”_

His leg stops bouncing.

Other than that, he makes no sign of comprehension. He shrugs.

_“Not really, no.”_

_“Hmm,”_  she hums thoughtfully. A pause, and she continues.  _“Another young man in your year seems to believe that you’re responsible.”_

He doesn’t say anything.

_“In fact, he seems to think that you spend a great deal of time helping out your young House mates. That many of them look up to you.”_

He can feel his face reddening. He looks down at his lap.

A sigh.

_“Humility. One of our more overlooked traits, I think.”_

He glances up to see her smiling slightly at him.

 _“I know what the students say about my House. Merlin, I know what several of my colleagues say.”_  She snorts.  _“But from what I’ve seen of my younger students? Well. They’re standing taller. And_  that,” she pauses, fixing an intent gaze on him.  _“That warms my heart more than I can say.”_

He smiles softly, dipping his head. His eyes shift down towards the small black and yellow badge on his robes.

—-

_“Why do I get the feeling that Professor Sprout is taking over my spot as best friend?”_

_“I can’t help it that our Head of House is a delightful woman who lets me read poetry to the plants in the greenhouses.”_

_“…Touché.”_

—-

He and Jehan make a giant banner for the Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor match.

Marius is back on as a starter.

Cosette scores twice as many goals as Marius.

They still lose to Gryffindor.

Courfeyrac only gloats a little bit.

Bahorel gloats a lot.

—-

The handwriting on his essays is becoming noticeably sloppier.

His teachers would comment, but the content remains spot-on.

(He’s not sure how he manages it, writing essays drunk and sleep-deprived.

But he does.)

—-

Jehan drags him to a Squib rights meeting.

( _“Come with me or I’ll dump the rest of your liquor,_ ** _don’t think I won’t._** _”_

_“I have underestimated you, my friend. You are a twisted and cruel individual.”_

_“Thank you. I try.”_ )

He walks into the classroom that’s being used as the meeting place, and glances around.

Mostly familiar faces. Bahorel, Courfeyrac, Marius, and a tiny Gryffindor boy (a first year, he thinks); Joly—who smiles and waves when he sees him—with two Gryffindors he vaguely recognizes from their Quidditch team (Bossuet and Musichetta, perhaps?); Combeferre, who’s standing near the front of the classroom, shuffling through a folder full of papers; and Enjolras, who leans against the front desk, arms crossed, surveying the room with an air of someone taking inventory before a battle.

He settles himself at the back of the room in between Jehan and Bahorel.

A few minutes later they are called to order.

_“I see we have a new face here today.”_

Enjolras looks pointedly at him, arms still crossed. 

 _“Yeeeeah, I’m just here because he said he’d throw my liquor away.”_ He jabbed a thumb in Jehan’s general direction, smirking.

Enjolras narrows his eyes, looking like he’s trying to decide if he’s joking or not.  _“You’re fifteen. And a prefect.”_

_“Brilliant observation.”_

Enjolras blinks once. Twice. His face settles into a disdainful expression.

_“Well, feel free to peruse one of the pamphlets if you don’t know what we’re doing here.”_

_“Oh, I know what you’re doing. I just don’t agree with it.”_

Silence.

Jehan kicks him underneath the table. He doesn’t flinch.

 _“…Well then.”_  Enjolras’ voice took on an even harder tone.  _“If you don’t agree with what we’re trying to accomplish here, at least try not to be a distraction to everyone else.”_ And with that, Enjolras looked away from him, pushing himself off the desk and addressing the rest of the people at the meeting.

He pulls out his sketchbook and doodles for a bit, barely stifling a yawn here and there. (He had only managed about an hour and a half of sleep the night before.)

After a particularly pronounced yawn, Enjolras cut off from whatever tangent he was on.

 _“I’m sorry, are we boring you?”_  A glare like that could easily send a first year crying to his mother.

 _“No, not at all,”_  he quipps. It was a true enough answer. 

(Really, Enjolras was anything  _but_  a boring speaker. He had a passion in his words that seemed to radiate from his entire body. His eyes held a fire that would put a phoenix to shame. This, combined with the fervor and eloquence in which he delivered his words, would make any man off the street join his cause.

Hell, even  _he_  almost believes in it.

Almost.)

Enjolras rolls his eyes, but says nothing else to him. Instead, he picks up right where he left off, as if there had been no interruption.

The meeting adjourns not long after that. Chairs and tables scrape against the floor, as everyone moves to stand and chat with each other. There’s a buzz in the air; a palpable excitement that seems to linger from Enjolras’ words. 

Everyone seems to absorb the excitement and enthusiasm. It’s as if Enjolras’ passion is now suddenly  _their_ passion.

He doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed anything quite like it.

—-

_“I thought for a second he was actually going to hex you, R, I really did.”_

_“Oh,_ that _would’ve been something to see…”_

_“Who d’you think would win in a duel, Enjolras or Grantaire?”_

_“Enjolras, definitely. No offense, mate—”_

He waves off Courfeyrac’s comment, bidding them all farewell as they part ways and make for various destinations. Marius and Jehan fall into step beside him.

_“So, think you’ll come next week?”_

He adjusts his cap, glancing over in the direction that Combeferre and Enjolras are walking

_“Eh. Probably not.”_

(He does go to the next meeting, though.

And the next one.

And the next.)

—-

O.W.L.s.

He doesn’t remember much from that week, later on.

He knows he didn’t sleep much, and there was a significant amount of alcohol involved.

Then again, that’s nothing new, really.

—-

When the exams are over, they head outside to enjoy the sunshine.

Jehan writes poetry, moving his gaze between the sky and the lake and—on more than one occasion—Courfeyrac, who is snoozing against the tree they’re sitting under.

Marius is off with Cosette somewhere—hopefully keeping all of his limbs.

He sprawls across the grass, drawing in his sketchbook.

(A jawline. A furrowed brow. Burning eyes.)

—-

_“R…?”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“…It’s four in the morning.”_

_“…Can’t sleep.”_

Jehan rolls over so he’s facing his bed, propping his head up on his elbow.

_“…Are you drunk again?”_

_“Nope.”_

A pause.

_“A little bit.”_

A sigh.

_“…Try to get some sleep, okay?”_

_“Mmhm.”_

_—-_

Cosette kisses Marius on the train ride back to King’s Cross.

 _“About damn time!”_  Bahorel exclaims, grinning.

Marius is blushing.

So is Cosette.

But they’re both smiling sheepishly.

—-

His fingers are itching for the bottle tucked in the bottom of his trunk.

He doesn’t pull it out until it’s well past midnight and he’s by himself in his room at Jehan’s.

**Author's Note:**

> As I was posting it, I noticed that there were a couple of things here and there that are missing. Then I realized that was because I had added things as I was posting is on Tumblr, but forgot to add them to the original document.
> 
> So yeah, to get the full, complete version, read the version on Tumblr! It'll be in the Hufflepuff!Grantaire tag.
> 
> Edit: Okay, fixed it!


End file.
